Self Conclusion
by forblueskies89
Summary: Fade in, start this scene, enter beautiful girl. But thing's are not what they seem, as we stand at the edge of the world. Angsty Brucas ONESHOT


**Ok, so I should be updating "Different Shades Of Blue", but I heard this song and it totally screamed Brucas (like any song doesn't) and I just had to write it!! Besides, the next update is half done!!**

**Hope y'all enjoy this, I'm so into The Spill Canvas right now that I could write a fic from any of their songs.**

**The title is the name of the song and like I said it's by The Spill Canvas. So download it and listen to it and it should bring the whole story together for you :D**

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_Fade in_

_Start this scene_

_Enter beautiful girl_

_But things are not what they seem_

_As we stand at the edge of the world_

The wind whips around his neck, but he doesn't bother to pull up his collar as he gazes out into the distance, tracing the horizon for flecks of the dying sun.

The sea breeze stings his cheeks, his lips are dry in the salty air and yet he feels none of it.

The empty beer bottle dangling between his limp fingers is threatening to slip at any moment. Instead he chooses to hurl it as hard as he can into the dark oblivion churning below him.

But it seems that no matter how many beers he drinks, he can't shed the taunting voice in his head, a voice that sounds surprisingly similar to that of Chris Keller. A voice that enjoys reciting extracts from articles with titles such as "Scott – Lost The Plot?" to him over and over again.

Nobody can believe that such a talented author would be able to produce the pathetic drivel that he has been so bold to call his second book. Many question whether he actually wrote the first one.

He realized that he lost his writing inspiration a long time ago, right around the time he realized that somehow everything good in his life had slipped away. And the strange thing is that he doesn't actually remember how he lost it all, just that one morning he woke up alone and unhappy.

Lost in his bitter thoughts, that's when he sees her; a girl with long mahogany hair falling down her back, standing at the edge of the cliff. A wave of nostalgia washes over him as he realizes he once knew a girl with hair like that, a girl who he hasn't thought about in a long time.

A girl who was obviously all the better for getting away from him and his messed up life.

_Excuse me Sir_

_But I have plans to die tonight_

_Oh, and you are directly in my way_

_And I bet you're gonna say it's not right_

She always loved the sunset; drawing as much warmth as she could from the last light of the day. She loves how the colors dance across the evening sky, making her believe that somewhere out there, there is something unmarked and green, something worth fighting for.

She pushes her hair out of her face and brings the vodka bottle to her lips again.

So many of her memories are here, memories of total calmness in her storm of a life. For as long as she could remember she would come here to get away from all of it. From her rowing parents when she was younger, from the heartache and loneliness when she grew older.

Nobody knew she did; it was her secret, her place of solitude. There was no place of solitude in New York City.

She pauses for a moment, stopping to imagine how many other have walked these paths. Maybe lovers so overwhelmed by each other that their whole world seems more beautiful. Maybe children who still believe in the good in the world and who see things through wide eyes.

Over the sound of the wind she hears footsteps approaching her, and after another swig of vodka she allows her gaze to travel over to her new companion.

What she isn't expecting is to come face to face with a scruffy, blonde haired man with the most piercing blue eyes she's ever seen – and that's exactly what happens.

If she was still the same girl she used to be back in High School then she would probably be amazed at this last ironic twist of fate, but as it turns out she isn't that same girl.

His eyes widen, as he recognizes her, and it seems all he can manage to say, "What are you doing here?"

She skillfully masks her emotion, something she's learned from her co-workers over the past five years. Her eyes don't widen, her lips don't twist into a smile, she barely moves as she replies, "Getting ready to jump."

_My reply_

_Excuse me miss_

_But do you have the slightest clue_

_Of exactly what you just said to me_

_And exactly who you're talking to_

She speaks to him as if she just said something completely normal; as if she just told him she was about to go grocery shopping. Her expression is blank, he's sure his is bewildered.

She's as beautiful as ever, her dark hair dancing in the fading light, her pale skin flawless. Her appearance tells him that the years have been kind to her, but the lack of expression in her emerald eyes tells him otherwise.

She's dressed smartly, an expensive looking blouse and a pencil skirt. He's sure that her outfit probably cost more than he earns in a month, but to him she'd look better in jeans and a hoody.

"Excuse me?" he frowns, wondering if his alcohol induced haze is affecting his hearing.

He watches as she takes another sip of her vodka, grimacing slightly as it reaches the back of her throat.

"You didn't hear me?" she asks, in the same emotionless voice. She's not looking him in the eye; he doubts that she even recognizes him.

"Brooke," he replies, hoping that her name will spark some reaction inside of her.

When she does nothing, he continues, "Do you have any idea what you just said to me?"

She turns to look at him now, but her eyes are unfocussed and tired. She seems cut off, distant, out of his reach, and nothing he's doing is bringing any life to her. Frustrated once again, he shakes his head sadly. "Don't you recognize me?"

_She said_

_I don't care, you don't even know me_

"Lucas," she replies softly.

She sees his eyes light up expectantly, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. He still has that same boyish look about him, even as a man, one that she used to love in what feels like another lifetime.

But she sees tiredness also etched into his confused expression. Small lines have become embedded in his forehead, no doubt from hours spent frowning and contemplating the state of the world – he always was more philosophical than he cared to admit.

"The past doesn't matter anymore" she murmurs. She turns her back on him once again. "You don't even know me."

_I said I know, but I'd like to change that soon_

_Hopefully_

He finds that her words both hurt and knock him off balance all at once.

He doesn't know what to say. This girl is a stranger to him, a stranger who somehow looks like a girl he used to know who was so full of life, full of passion.

But this girl standing in front of him is motionless and stiff, like a toy that's batteries have run out.

"I'd like to" he says, his words almost pleading with her.

_We all flirt with the tiniest notion_

_Of self conclusion in one simplified notion_

_You see the trick is that you're never supposed to act on it_

_No matter how unbearable this misery gets_

Her shoulders drop as she sighs deeply, and he recognizes that her slumped posture is betraying her cold and indifferent exterior.

The wind is picking up now, pulling at her clothes, and yet she doesn't shiver once. The ends of her long hair have started to curl in the salty air.

"What's the point?" she replies, after a long pause. She doesn't wait for his answer before continuing, "I'm tired Luke. I'm tired of it all."

She's not asking him to save her he realizes. She's not fighting to hold onto anything, or fighting for anything at all.

"So you give up?" he asks, unable to mask the disbelief in his voice.

She shifts her weight from one hip to this other. "It's easier this way," she explains. Her words aren't slurred, despite the copious amounts of vodka missing from the bottle clutched in her hand. He wonders how many nights she spent sipping vodka and trying to escape her reality.

He frowns, confused by her monotonous tone and puzzling words. "No Brooke, it's not."

"This isn't some kind of closure," he continues. "It isn't some kind of liberation. You jump and it's a 50-foot fall before icy cold water." She doesn't so much as flinch.

He takes a step towards her. "You're right," he admits. "I don't know you. I don't know what's gotten you out here, ready to jump off a cliff to get away from it all. But I do know that you're meant for so much more than that Brooke."

"Please," he begs, his voice cracking as he stumbles over his words. "Don't do this."

He takes another step towards her and gently wraps his fingers around the neck of the vodka bottle. He feels her fingers loosen beneath his, and she doesn't resist and he pulls it away.

_You make it sound_

_So easy to be alive_

_But tell me how am I supposed to seize this day_

_When everything inside of me has died?_

She doesn't dare look at him as she stands face to face with him. She doesn't dare to look into his eyes and see him pleading with her, with eyes that understand nothing of her pain and angst. "Lucas," she whispers, his name gentle like a forgotten pleasure on her lips.

She grasps for something to say to him, something that will convey the end of her superficial life as the mercy that it is. "I have nothing to live for," she explains.

She allows her gaze to sweep over his features, taking in his unshaven face, the unfamiliar dark circles under his eyes. She sadly concludes that time catches up with everyone in the end.

"What happened to you Brooke?" he asks, as he runs a hand through his hair. "You've always been so strong."

She smiles sadly as his words once again affirm that he really can never have known her.

She sniffs and keeps her arms wrapped around herself, as she acknowledges the vodka provoked detachedness that is starting to creep around her body.

"Life happened Lucas," she shrugs. "…and along the way it destroyed everything worth living for."

Her words seem to hang in the air between them as she wonders if he even understands what she's trying to say. He's looking at her with such sadness that she feels a twinge of wistfulness, and cannot stop the ten or so memories that flash into her mind.

She closes her eyes, as she wills herself to speak again.

"Does the name Colby Blight mean anything to you?" she asks.

She sees him frown again; she can see he's searching for an answer that's on the tip of his tongue.

She sniffs again. "She was my best friend," she explains, her voice suddenly raspy and dry. "We met in LA and moved to New York together. She was a model and I was a designer."

She steadies her voice, willing it to return to the same expressionless one she's become so accustomed to. "We stayed close. As close you can when you both hit the big time."

He still looks confused, standing rooted to the spot, his arms lying limply by his sides.

"She died last year," she hears her words catching in her throat. "Of a drug overdose."

She casts him another glance; he looks horrified. "But then you probably already heard that," she laughs bitterly. "Unless you didn't manage to read a paper in 2011."

He's speechless as he looks on at her, and she thinks to herself that maybe for once he understands exactly what's going on in her messed up head.

"Oh, and then there's Jared," she laughs, unsure of why such a horrific mess of a life should render such an inappropriate response.

"He's my fiancée," she continues. "Or should I say _was_ my fiancée."

She can see that he's trying to digest what she just told him, as well as what she's telling him now.

"Was?" he asks, his eyes squinting as he tries to decipher what she's saying.

She catches his eye for a little longer than necessary, and then rolls up one of the sleeves of her blouse revealing an ugly purple bruise.

The shock is evident on his face as his concerned expression turns to one of wide-eyed disbelief.

"He said he wouldn't do it again," she hears her voice mumble, as she thinks to herself how pathetic she must sound. "I told him that if he did then I'd leave him."

"He never hurt me bad Luke," she rushes on, desperate for him to understand something that she doesn't understand herself. "But I just… " she bites her lip, "…I couldn't be that girl anymore."

She can't bear to look at the distressed expression on his face any longer, and turns her back to him once again.

She wonders to herself why he has to be here now, wanting to save from her fate now. Why doesn't he know that he's five years too late? He only ever wants her when it's too late.

"I don't even know who I am anymore Lucas," she confesses, speaking into the wind. "I wake up every morning, and I don't know why anymore."

She doesn't bother to gauge his reaction any longer. "When I was younger I'd give anything to be here. I got the life that I dreamed of, and it's only then that I realized I had nothing worth dreaming for."

"I don't actually have any friends. I don't remember the last time I actually let my guard down around someone. I feel hollow and empty, like I have nothing left to give."

She turns to him; he seems paralyzed, rooted to the spot. She brings her hand up to brush his cheek gently, she doesn't know why, maybe just for old times sake.

His blue eyes bare into her green ones as she begs him, her voice shaking, "Please Luke. Just let me go."

_My reply_

_Trust me girl_

_I know you're legs are pleading to leap_

_But I offer you this easy choice_

_Instead of dying living with me_

"Brooke" he hears his own voice shake as he tries to recover from the shock of seeing her after all this time, the shock of everything she just told him, she shock of her cold hand on his rough cheek.

He clears his throat, not knowing what to say, what to do to make things any better for her.

She's come blazing back into his life, like the spitfire she always was, even more complicated than he thought possible, even more angst ridden than before.

He thought that letting her go would be the best thing for her. He only ever hurt her, much more so that he had ever healed her. But as he looks down at the girl close enough for him to wrap in his arms, the illusion of a liberated, independent Brooke is indefinitely shattered beyond repair.

"I can't," he chokes, feeling every beat of his heart pounding in his chest. "I could never let you do this."

She withdraws her hand from his cheek, and his skin tingles with the lack of contact. A surprisingly calm and serene look washes over her previously tortured face as she says, "I'm suffering Luke; it would be an act of mercy."

Her words, so intricate and articulate astonish him once again. He tries to imagine the sixteen-year-old Brooke who erupted into his life wording something so delicately, the images failing to mesh.

"But what would the world do without you Brooke?" he contends. "Without your beauty, your courage… your heart." He lets the words fall from his lips, willing her to believe the words that he does more than anything.

She shakes her head sadly and smiles in spite of herself. "We can't all get a Naley ending," she whispers.

He frowns at her words. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Her lips part, and remain so as if she is about to speak. But there is only the sound of the waves crashing below them and the wind whipping through her hair.

"Nathan and Haley," she says so quietly, the fear that now possesses her eyes evident in her voice.

"Brooke," he sighs, wanting to delay this moment forever. "Nathan and Haley are divorced."

He sees her expression crumble at his words. She hasn't allowed herself to cry once, even while enlightening him to the broken details of her life, but as he watches her face twist into an expression of utter pain he realizes that a childhood that she so fondly recalls has just been damaged irreparably.

Tears well up in her eyes, tears that she no longer tries to suppress.

He hears his voice speak, although he suddenly feels very distant from his own body. "Nathan made it big too; he's gone professional. He got remarried last year." He doesn't even try to mask the disgust in his voice.

He kneads the back of his neck with his hand and continues. "Haley lives here still, with James. Not in the same house… she couldn't bear all of the memories."

He tries to keep emotion out of his voice as he says, "She finds it hard to cope – she's been suffering with depression. Some days are better, some are worse… she's not the same Haley she once was."

Her tears have made their way down her cheeks now, her mouth twisted into an a painful grimace. He watches as she forces herself to take a calm breath and whispers, "I had no idea."

He has no reply, and can only watch as she stares desolately out into the distance.

"I guess we were all fooling ourselves," she concludes, assuring him that he's done nothing to change her mind about her fate tonight.

Before he can stop himself, and unsure if he wants to anyway, he blurts out, "Come live with me."

_She said are you crazy you don't even know me_

_I said I know but I'd like to change that soon_

_Hopefully_

She hears her voice scoff at this request – he always was a dreamer; someone who got caught up in the moment and loved to make promises he never came close to keeping.

She wipes away the remains of her tears. She fixes him with a cold stare and says, "You don't know me Lucas."

He meets her gaze with the same eyes that lied to her, over and over all those many years ago. "Let me know you," he pleads.

_We all flirt with the tiniest notion_

_Of self conclusion in one simplified motion_

_You see the trick is you're never supposed to act on it_

_No matter how unbearable this misery gets_

He takes her hand in his own, not knowing how to tell her he really means what he says. Why should she believe him – he broke so many important promises before now.

Her truly sees her now, a broken girl, and he knows he's one of the people who broke her.

"Brooke, this isn't for you," he insists. "You can't die like this."

The impassive look remains fixed on her face, although he feels the fingers of her hand relax under his touch.

He feels the urgency reach his voice, he needs her to know that somebody cares whether she lives or dies, somebody thinks she's meant for more.

"You're so full of life," he tells her. "I know you don't feel like it right now, but I know the real Brooke – deep down you're the most incredible person I've ever met."

He finds that he's shouting now, against the wind. He takes hold of both of her arms and turns her to face him, needing her to know, needing her to believe.

She still looks sad and hurt, but she doesn't look so detached, and he knows that on some level he's getting through to her.

"Brooke, someone so passionate as you… you can't die like this, fade away like a flame that's been blown out," he struggles to find the words he wants her to hear. "You should go down fighting, not just give up like this."

_I would be lying if I said that things would never get rough_

_And all this cliché motivation it could never be enough_

_I could stand here all night trying to convince you_

_But what good would that do? My offer stands and you must chose_

How can he tell her that somehow this chance encounter has made him feel more alive than he has for the past five years of his life?

How can he tell her that the thought of not seeing her ever again, of her beautiful body being washed up on some beach tomorrow morning makes him feel sick to the stomach? That if she jumps off that cliff he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop himself from following her?

How can he tell her that he hasn't dared to think of her since she left, hasn't dared to acknowledge the ache in his heart that's slowly been consuming him, the ache that can only be soothed by her touch, her voice?

How can he tell he that only she can save him from a life so lonely?

"How can I live with you Luke?" she yells back, suddenly shaken out of her daze. "How can I trust you when you've gone back on your word so many times?"

She's suddenly so angry, her fact contorted into a scowl as she screams at him, "How do I know you're not gonna throw everything away and go back to the love of your life, Peyton frickin Sawyer?"

He stops, shocked for a moment, remembering how little Brooke actually knows about her High School friends. "Don't you mean Peyton Jagelski?" he replies, watching her eyes widen once again, as they have so many times tonight.

She's speechless for a moment, before she spits out, "Great… She stole my happy ending, but she still gets hers."

She turns away from him and he knows that she's thinking about all the times he betrayed her, every time he broke her heart.

"Brooke… We were stupid," he admits. "We were selfish and stupid and scared."

He hangs his head ashamed, knowing he's not worthy of looking at her. "We were hiding out with one another, and I know we broke your heart… I'm so sorry."

He wants to tell her everything and more, but he knows that would take more time than she could ever give him.

He wants to tell her that he has no inspiration because she was his inspiration, that he misses his best friend and it breaks his heart to see her as a shell of the person she used to be, that he misses his brother.

He wants her to know that he's never felt so lonely in his life as he does now, with his Mom and Lily living with Andy in New Zealand.

He wishes she could know how happy he is for Peyton and Jake, and how sad he is that him and Jake can never really be friends like they once were.

He wants her to know everything, but it seems like words always fail him at the most important of times.

He approaches her from behind and pulls her into his chest, feeling her back tense under his touch.

"I want you," he says honestly, openly, tired of covering up his feelings and pretending that everything's alright. He feels her take in a sharp breath and hold it, as if she's scared to let it go.

"I need you," he whispers, feeling her relax into his chest. She slowly turns round, her face strained; she looks as though she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Why?" she asks wearily, his hands on her waist, her hands against his chest, keeping the distance between them.

"I love you," he says.

_Alright you win, but I only give you one night_

_To prove yourself to be better than my attempt at flight_

_I swear to you if you hurt me I will leap_

_I will toss myself from these very cliffs and you'll never see it coming_

She feels her heart swell and break at those three words that she hasn't heard from him since one sad and mournful night when he let her walk out of his bedroom and his life forever.

She can't help it anymore; the tears come streaming down her face and the cries she's been trying to stifle wrack her frame.

"Just… don't hurt me again," she pleads with him. "If you give up on me again, I swear I'll jump without a second thought."

He pulls her into his chest and lets her cry until her sobs subside. He runs his fingers through her tangled hair and plants a kiss on the side of her head. His arms are full, and for the first time in ages so is his heart.

_Settle precious, I know what you are going through_

_Cause ten minutes before you got here I was gonna jump too_

"I know what it's like," he says after she falls silent.

When he gains no reply he continues, "Sometimes when I felt like I had nothing I'd come up here and think about ending it all."

For a moment she allows herself to wonder at the fact that through it all it seems that they are always the last one's standing.

Through it all, it always comes down to the two of them, thrown together by life's twists and turns.

For a moment she contemplates their past… and their future.

And then suddenly her hands are in his hair and his lips are on hers and she kisses him like she's never kissed him before. She groans in ecstasy as he pulls her close to him wanting to keep her safe and warm.

She kisses him with gratitude, with passion, with want.

Her soulmate, her lover, her **savior**.

_We all flirt with the tiniest notion_

_Of self conclusion in one simplified motion_

_You see the trick is you're never supposed to act on it_

_No matter how unbearable this misery gets._

She doesn't remember how long they stayed up there on the cliffs, kissing, her content in his strong arms, him determined to never let her go again.

But what she does know is that when he wraps a protective arm around her and calls her his "Pretty Girl", she's found some kind of self conclusion… and it's definitely the kind worth fighting for.

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**Wow – that took AGES to write!**

**Hope y'all enjoyed it**

**Please review, it'll really brighten up my day!**

**Rosy xx **


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